iamsocoldandwetthrough,"calledalittlechildoutside.itwascryingandknockingatthedoor,whilsttherainwaspouringdownandthewindwasrattlingallthewindows.

"poorcreature!"saidthepoet,andgotupandopenedthedoor.beforehimstoodalittleboy;hewasnaked,andthewaterflowedfromhislongfairlocks.hewasshiveringwithcold;ifhehadnotbeenletin,hewouldcertainlyhaveperishedinthestorm.

"poorlittlething!"saidthepoet,andtookhimbythehand."cometome;iwillsoonwarmyou.youshallhavesomewineandanapple,foryouaresuchaprettyboy."

andhewas,too.hiseyessparkledliketwobrightstars,andalthoughthewaterfloweddownfromhisfairlocks,theystillcurledquitebeautifully.

helookedlikealittleangel,butwaspalewithcold,andtremblingallover.inhishandheheldasplendidbow,butithadbeenentirelyspoiltbytherain,andthecoloursoftheprettyarrowshadrunintooneanotherbygettingwet.

theoldmansatdownbythefire,andtakingthelittleboyonhisknee,wrungthewateroutofhislocksandwarmedhishandsinhisown.

hethenmadehimsomehotspicedwine,whichquicklyrevivedhim;sothatwithreddeningcheeks,hesprangupontheflooranddancedaroundtheoldman.

"youareamerryboy,"saidthelatter."whatisyourname?"

"mynameiscupid,"heanswered."don'tyouknowme?thereliesmybow.ishootwiththat,youknow.look,theweatherisgettingfineagain-themoonisshining."

"butyourbowisspoilt,"saidtheoldpoet.

"thatwouldbeunfortunate,"saidthelittleboy,takingitupandlookingatit."oh,it'squitedryandisn'tdamagedatall.thestringisquitetight;i'lltryit."so,drawingitback,hetookanarrow,aimed,andshotthegoodoldpoetrightintheheart."doyouseenowthatmybowwasnotspoilt?"hesaid,and,loudlylaughing,ranaway.whatanaughtyboytoshoottheoldpoetlikethat,whohadtakenhimintohiswarmroom,hadbeensogoodtohim,andhadgivenhimthenicestwineandthebestapple!

thegoodoldmanlayuponthefloorcrying;hewasreallyshotintheheart."oh!"hecried,"whatanaughtyboythiscupidis!ishalltellallthegoodchildrenaboutthis,sothattheytakecarenevertoplaywithhim,lesthehurtthem."

andallgoodchildren,bothgirlsandboys,whomhetoldaboutthis,wereontheirguardagainstwickedcupid;buthedeceivesthemallthesame,forheisverydeep.whenthestudentscomeoutofclass,hewalksbesidethemwithabookunderhisarm,andwearingablackcoat.theycannotrecognizehim.andthen,iftheytakehimbythearm,believinghimtobeastudenttoo,hesticksanarrowintotheirchest.andwhenthegirlsgotochurchtobeconfirmed,heisamongstthemtoo.infact,heisalwaysafterpeople.hesitsinthelargechandelierinthetheatreandblazesaway,sothatpeoplethinkitisalamp;buttheysoonfindouttheirmistake.hewalksaboutinthecastlegardenandonthepromenades.yes,onceheshotyourfatherandyourmotherinthehearttoo.justaskthem,andyouwillhearwhattheysay.oh!heisabadboy,thiscupid,andyoumustneverhaveanythingtodowithhim,forheisaftereveryone.justthink,heevenshotanarrowatoldgrandmother;butthatwasalongtimeago.thewoundhaslongbeenhealed,butsuchthingsareneverforgotten.

nowyouknowwhatabadboythiswickedcupidis.

theend.

1872

fairytalesofhanschristianandersen

theshadow

byhanschristianandersen

inveryhotclimates,wheretheheatofthesunhasgreatpower,peopleareusuallyasbrownasmahogany;andinthehottestcountriestheyarenegroes,withblackskins.alearnedmanoncetravelledintooneofthesewarmclimates,fromthecoldregionsofthenorth,andthoughthewouldroamaboutashedidathome;buthesoonhadtochangehisopinion.hefoundthat,likeallsensiblepeople,hemustremaininthehouseduringthewholeday,witheverywindowanddoorclosed,sothatitlookedasifallinthehousewereasleeporabsent.thehousesofthenarrowstreetinwhichhelivedweresoloftythatthesunshoneuponthemfrommorningtillevening,anditbecamequiteunbearable.thislearnedmanfromthecoldregionswasyoungaswellasclever;butitseemedtohimasifheweresittinginanoven,andhebecamequiteexhaustedandweak,andgrewsothinthathisshadowshrivelledup,andbecamemuchsmallerthanithadbeenathome.thesuntookawayevenwhatwasleftofit,andhesawnothingofittilltheevening,aftersunset.itwasreallyapleasure,assoonasthelightswerebroughtintotheroom,toseetheshadowstretchitselfagainstthewall,eventotheceiling,sotallwasit;anditreallywantedagoodstretchtorecoveritsstrength.thelearnedmanwouldsometimesgooutintothebalconytostretchhimselfalso;andassoonasthestarscameforthintheclear,beautifulsky,hefeltrevived.peopleatthishourbegantomaketheirappearanceinallthebalconiesinthestreet;forinwarmclimateseverywindowhasabalcony,inwhichtheycanbreathethefresheveningair,whichisverynecessary,eventothosewhoareusedtoaheatthatmakesthemasbrownasmahogany;sothatthestreetpresentedaverylivelyappearance.herewereshoemakers,andtailors,andallsortsofpeoplesitting.inthestreetbeneath,theybroughtouttablesandchairs,lightedcandlesbyhundreds,talkedandsang,andwereverymerry.therewerepeoplewalking,carriagesdriving,andmulestrottingalong,withtheirbellsontheharness,"tingle,tingle,"astheywent.thenthedeadwerecarriedtothegravewiththesoundofsolemnmusic,andthetollingofthechurchbells.itwasindeedasceneofvariedlifeinthestreet.onehouseonly,whichwasjustoppositetotheoneinwhichtheforeignlearnedmanlived,formedacontrasttoallthis,foritwasquitestill;andyetsomebodydweltthere,forflowersstoodinthebalcony,bloomingbeautifullyinthehotsun;andthiscouldnothavebeenunlesstheyhadbeenwateredcarefully.thereforesomeonemustbeinthehousetodothis.thedoorsleadingtothebalconywerehalfopenedintheevening;andalthoughinthefrontroomallwasdark,musiccouldbeheardfromtheinteriorofthehouse.theforeignlearnedmanconsideredthismusicverydelightful;butperhapshefanciedit;foreverythinginthesewarmcountriespleasedhim,exceptingtheheatofthesun.theforeignlandlordsaidhedidnotknowwhohadtakentheoppositehouse-nobodywastobeseenthere;andastothemusic,hethoughtitseemedverytedious,tohimmostuncommonlyso.

"itisjustasifsomeonewaspractisingapiecethathecouldnotmanage;itisalwaysthesamepiece.hethinks,isuppose,thathewillbeabletomanageitatlast;butidonotthinkso,howeverlonghemayplayit."

oncetheforeignerwokeinthenight.hesleptwiththedooropenwhichledtothebalcony;thewindhadraisedthecurtainbeforeit,andthereappearedawonderfulbrightnessoverallinthebalconyoftheoppositehouse.theflowersseemedlikeflamesofthemostgorgeouscolors,andamongtheflowersstoodabeautifulslendermaiden.itwastohimasiflightstreamedfromher,anddazzledhiseyes;butthenhehadonlyjustopenedthem,asheawokefromhissleep.withonespringhewasoutofbed,andcreptsoftlybehindthecurtain.butshewasgone-thebrightnesshaddisappeared;theflowersnolongerappearedlikeflames,althoughstillasbeautifulasever.thedoorstoodajar,andfromaninnerroomsoundedmusicsosweetandsolovely,thatitproducedthemostenchantingthoughts,andactedonthesenseswithmagicpower.whocouldlivethere?